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Best Pole Poems

Below are the all-time best Pole poems written by Poets on PoetrySoup. These top poems in list format are the best examples of Pole poems written by PoetrySoup members

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New Pole Poems

Don't stop! The most popular and best Pole poems are below this new poems list.

A Pole Jumped Out In Front Of Me by Ellison, Jack
This Little Pole Boy by Mojahed, Kasra
Life is Like a May Pole by Dietrich, Andrea
North Pole going South by Bear, Mama
Pole Dancer by Lamoureux, Richard
Pole dancer physics by Human, Daniel
CONNECT PS POLE by Devnath, BL
Pole-Caught by bauer, ilene
Pole Catching by braxton, k.m.
Totem Pole by J.T., Honestly

View all new Pole Poems

The Best Pole Poems

Details | Pole Poem | |

Plethora of Poetry

~STRIP TEASE~     Featuring:) SKAT

Silver Skimpy Ink, String, A POET DESTROYER's bling, bling
Think of me as a human ditty delicious decoration,
Something along the line of a sweet tooth temptation
Cherry tastes, between the slit of tender toast 
Fine jumble jam slams down the tongueless throat 
Dance like a diamond on The tight South Pacific Rim
I'll feed you with a slithering seductive sound
My hair soaking, -wet and wild, tonight I trim
A dulcet apple acrostic bottom, to squeeze the greed
Feathers, on top, poetic diction describing to please
At times, I'm in deep dire need of something sweet, and sour 
Endless epic words, and ode to the naked poetic world
We The Women and Men of poetry,
Reveals far more than any nudity found in a bar
It does not matter how you do it or who you are.
I'm an entertainer, of Poetry, 
The good, the bad, the freaking awesome
Don't worry, I keep my clothe On :)

---

Symbol of the spiritual Sexy SKAT Slang
--Provocative-- A slippery succulent, scrumptious kiss 
Counterparts working the tension, another arrant appetite
I am the Illuminati illusion, laminating luscious illustrated letters  
Indulging in the, satire of one stilt spoken sunset
Like a child's spiking temperature, I often throw tantrums, 
Teasing attentions, by incorporating a pole, paper and pen, 
If someone is uncomfortable with facing the fact, 
When I reveal everything, without removing my high heels
Then you must not be worldly or women and man enough 
I love to spoil and slur my scenery, using my best assets
My strength and power parallel, any unique universe 
That's how confident the audience makes me feel
We The Women and Men of poetry,
Reveals far more than any nudity found in a bar
It does not matter how you do it or who you are.
I'm an entertainer, of Poetry, 
The good, the bad, fantastic and fabulous
Don't worry, I keep my clothe On :)


~A Poet Destroyer Collaboration~

More great poems below...


Details | Pole Poem | |

Magic Beans


It was magic beans you placed in my hand as we held
Ones you nurtured,  embedded deep within your love
I know because it tormented me with euphoria planted
Stalked me earnestly  with your charming advances
You know I climbed walls 'til next you stood at my side
 
When you  occupied me and I  began to grow, the eclipse 
Was gigantic, extraordinary, a wanting wildness sublime
You were my mystical hen, the one who laid Golden Eggs
You made our home a  majestic castle suited for royalty
 
It was magic beans you infused in my hand as we held
Made me spin searching for a long pole to slide down
Escape with you  my loving wife from the Giant Ogre 
Inside me, I who feared commitment, a long time alone
But now you are the only enchantress I need or crave
 
And when it is my turn to die, take with me to the grave
The feel of you deeply rooted beyond my meager frame
From the soil above my coffin will grow beyond the sky
The largest plant with leaves shaped in awe of our lives
Steps beyond the clouds you'll find me playing my harp
 
An angelic music and song that will herald our union
Speak of our story in fable for children's open ears
Adapted to capture their imaginations, inspire them
Lift a glass in cheer to magic beans entrenched in you


01~12~2015
Maurice Yvonne
Sponsor: Poet Destroyer A 
Contest Name: Magic Beans 


Details | Pole Poem | |

The Elves Snow Party


Away up north where it’s snowing they say
the elves are preparing for Christmas day.
Big elves little elves, busier than bees
All building toys, for under Christmas trees.

Some work with hammers others building bikes,
some riding through the room on brand new trikes.
Tiny elf voices ringing loud and clear,
everyone’s full of love and Christmas cheer.

Suddenly the chatter stops; all are still,
Santa walked in the room with book and quill.
Looking down at his book, Santa Clause stared,
then lifted his eyebrows as he declared,

Today I looked inside my books
and I found that we are ahead,
and thought because you worked so hard 
we shall all go outside instead.
Misses Claus made lots of sweet treats
so let’s all eat and be hearty,
for today here at the North Pole
all elves shall have a snow party.

Quick as a wink the elves they disappeared,
Santa just smiled as he tugged at his beard.
Laughing he watched his little friends scatter
and soon the mountains echoed with laughter.

Snowballs were flying, snowmen taking form,
and hot chocolate kept little elves warm.
They were sledding, skiing, skating all day,
see, elves aren’t simply, all work and no play.



Written by Brenda Meier-Hans 
11.29.2014
Contest: Children’s Christmas or Holiday Tale
1st place

Details | Pole Poem | |

The Devil Made Me Do It

It had been a long night, an hour drive just to be with my sister. One must stay in touch with family; it’s the right thing to do. I don't even know what movie we saw. Here she was again in all her glory whining, and whimpering, about her conditions. Confined space is the wrong place to be with someone bi-polar. Sometimes, I think the family should mark her eruptions on a calendar, maybe there’s a pattern? She was hungry; her blood sugar was low; hurry, get her home! 

“Geez Sis, if my life depended on carrying peanuts, I'd make damn sure I had them with me!” I my replied. 

the sleet fell
through the headlight beams:
fog inside

“You bleeping self-centered witch!” Her reply.

And on and on, enumerating all my faults at the top of her lungs. Her face was darting back and forth across the stick shift like a viper. The weather was so bad, and her screaming so loud; I almost drove us up a telephone pole. The back road to her house was serpentine through a pinewood, and over narrow, slick, bridges. Well, about fifteen minutes into my dissection, I burst a gut.

“You need to have some control. Your diet is horrible. I wish you could see yourself eating. Your plate might as well be a trough.” There now I’ve gone and done it, I thought to myself. The little devil in me was all smiles. When we pulled into the driveway; she leapt out.

the car door
slams rattling the glass:
eyes wet as rain glass 

It only felt good for a moment. It was true; she did deserve the comment. She’d felt free to butcher me, but, it was wrong to try to hurt her. The momentary release, which felt so good, has given us months of anguish. 


Published in Dead Snakes Magazine Winter 2014



Details | Pole Poem | |

A Christmas Snow

It is Christmas Eve, all preparations for the day are done,
My hand grabs the doorknob as I step out to take a stroll,
On this peaceful night the village is silent, and I see no one,
Walking under the warm glow of a decorated streetlight pole.

I stand and gaze at the windows of the house next door,
Where a tree glows with bubble lights and tinsel strands,
Three stockings holding wishes, await over the fire's roar,
A scene straight from a dream, so wonderful and grand.

Glancing upwards, as the clouds glide across the moon,
Silver stars are out mingling with the drifting snowflakes,
A sight to enjoy here and now, for morning will be here soon,
A beautiful Christmas memory, deep in my heart to take.

Only one car comes up the street, as I walk along our lane,
Just a friendly snowman is there to greet me with a hello,
I stop, adjust his top hat, and reposition his pipe and cane,
This cold-hearted man has made a child smile, I know.

My ears lead me to the street corner where carolers sing,
As those old familiar notes drift towards me on the air,
More sounds seem to awaken as the bells distantly ring,
I felt nothing but a warming glow as I was standing there.





More great poems below...


Details | Pole Poem | |

ONE KISS

WITH  JUST ~ONE  KISS

I rise, like fire in your eyes.
Feel the burn, as I discharge my flames.
Like Frankenstein, 
I will make you come to life.
Out of the sea,
I rise like the tide.
Move in slow like the moon,
provoking, your endless passionate doom.
A giant wave you can't control,
sinking you like a ship below.
I'm the fever burning deep inside,
in and out at 105%.
Like a drum beat from the wild west,
I'm the rhythm pressing up against your chest.
Re-sizing the power of the blazing sun,
blistering your complexion till my job is done.   
I'm the force you find in number 8,
a hurricane, destroying at an atomic rate.
I'm the south and north pole,
the magnet that attracts your glow.
The mass that holds your gravity in place.
a body that magnitudes the smile on your face.
I'm the exhaust, 
running through your system. 
I'm dangerous, and beautiful like the open shores,
One kiss will lead you wanting, more and more.

Passing like the wind,
holding on to my bliss, 
Kiss after Kiss.

Lip against lip, 
Be prepared for all of this.

by;p.d.

Details | Pole Poem | |

Grading on the curve


I’ve been told, I deserve so much,
for the work I've done, for the lives I touch.

I would like to say, my dear friend,
what I deserve, is a bitter end!

I have hated, I have snapped,
people I love, I have slapped.

I have lied, I’ve also cheated,
believe it not, I have mistreated.

I have envied, I have stolen,
and many promises, I have broken. 

I’ve been selfish, and I’ve been greedy,
 too many times, I have been a bit sneaky!

I’ve wrongfully punished; and wrongfully accused,
plus for my own gain, I have spitefully used!

I've been so angry, as a sailor I've cursed,
 to be brutally honest, I have done much worse!

I’ve been encumbered, I’ve been a drunk
oh yes, my life was so full of junk!

Even though I knew that it was wrong,
all these things, I did to belong!

If you just met me, you’re probably in shock,
but in a sinful nature, yes, I sure did walk!

Then I met Jesus, I heard his good news,
and how for my sins, he was bruised!

how from the beginning, his love ran deep,
and for my own heart he did weep

For every wrong that I ever did,
he shed his blood, my sins he hid!

Now, I'm FREE; ACCEPTED; and thoroughly WASHED,
and that mean ole’ devil, is surly squashed!

Now he can’t touch me with a 10 foot pole,
for it is written, on God’s holy scroll!

God says, I’m FAVORED and TRULY BLESSED,
Because faith in Jesus, I CONFESSED!

In my spirit, I have been CHANGED.
And in his RIGHTEOUSNESS, I'm REARRANGED!

Now, this might sound too good to be true,
But that’s the GOSPEL, for me and you!

 You still say, we get what we deserve,
Well, I thank you JESUS, for grading on the curve!


Stacey Brown 2-7-14

Details | Pole Poem | |

A Most Irish Fairy Tale - Merry Christmas to All

It is not just Santa Claus who we meet in cold December— 
There is “Carolina,” and she’s the beauty of a winter picture perfect 
With luscious long coal black curly hair far down on her back 
As a true fairy princess, Carolina is quite beautiful with beaming

Blue eyes and that certain incandescent glow for all to see and 
Dressed in a sparkling white robe made of polar bear skins 
With a glossy coat sprinkled with pearls and diamonds . . . .

Out of the woods she comes so quiet in the night’s fresh snow 
With a glimpse of two deer and a fox on hunt walking carefully 
Carolina hopes the deer will walk around with angelic guard 
The secret is that beautiful Carolina talks the animals’ languages 
The birds they play in all its splendor fine without sorrows 
They fly while Carolina keeps watch carefully on the horizon 

Falling snow now dazzling Christmas in a ball circle most brilliant 
While there is a frozen frosted sprinkling silver in the mist shining sun
Oh so!! Wonderful to behold as the Spirit of Christmas comes alive . . . .

The Reindeer come alive and begin dancing joyfully together and 
Create such a melodic sound almost like bells ringing aloud
And the all the Reindeer are here in their resplendent glory:
Dasher, Dancer, Prancer, Vixen, Comet, Cupid, Donner, Blitzen,
And Rudolph, with his red nose so beautiful and oh so bright—
And the sounds the Reindeer make stay in the minds of the little
Children just like sweetly wishing little voices wonderful in dreams
With those singing, tunes a dancing light appears so wondrous 
While planes from all over the world begin landing with cargo
And one each day with loads of letters from good little children

And Santa Claus begins calling the elfin troops into action while
The Leprechauns do all the heavy work as they are much tougher
But the old fighting Irish in them showing their softer side all the 
While with a drop of the old fiery dew to keep them warm smiling 
Like the very wee little Devil in them - mischievous and all . . . . 

They do all the heavy work for the elves as they have more of a spring
In their step while almost bouncing on the tip of the their toes like 
Little jumping springs so full of boundless wonder and energy and  
Then day after day the letters keep arriving and landing at the North Pole 
And they begin working like mad and very busily in the North Pole factory

While Santa checks the letters of all boys and girls through a secret window 
And when he shakes it he sees through the mist in a glass bubble of the
Christmas treats while hurriedly calling together all of his Reindeer . . . .
The sound of hooves on the snow saddles up the sleigh he is very slim 
To start off while all his helpers are loading up and he flicks the reins 

And the bells start ringing and - in a flash of magic dust in spirit sings of 
The ground waving he bade Mrs. Claus a very fond and loving farewell
And off he goes in a flash of light Ho! Ho! Ho! Ho! echoing in the distance 

Each chimney sliding down he eats the food throwing some to the Reindeer 
Treats left after the night's over he feels so fat eating so much he heads back 
Home to the North Pole while smiling so content at the children’s happiness 
And ringing in his ears filled with golden smiles and wishing everyone a very 
Merry Christmas he falls asleep after Mrs. Claus makes him a hot chocolate
Really tired but easing his weary bones year after year he loves his job very
Much so and all of the sheer delight that his efforts and those of Mrs. Clau
And his elfin helpers and the joy and fun of the Reindeer bring to all children
On this Earth!! 
                     Merry Christmas to All!!



Anne-Lise Andresen, Liam McDaid and Gary Bateman – A Collaborated Poem, 

Copyright © All Rights Reserved (December 9, 2014) (Free Verse)

Details | Pole Poem | |

Life Is Like A Maypole

Spring bows to thrill of cayenne summer,    
dreams spiced in youthful glow come May.
Bright ribbons wake my bare feet’s slumber. 
Spring bows to thrill of cayenne summer!
Rainbow pleats dance, no clouds encumber 
my twirling limbs, life's weaved sashay. 
Spring bows to thrill of cayenne summer,
dreams spiced in youthful glow come May!

Spring sighs with age come broaching summer,
blue tears, red smiles ‘round pole in May.
Life's colors flow from gold to umber.  
Spring sighs with age come broaching summer! 
And shall I join wind’s lively number
or watch bright ribbons twist and play?
Spring sighs with age come broaching summer,
blue tears, red smiles ‘round pole in May!


written 2/5/15

Details | Pole Poem | |

The Evil Eye

The evening's now descending and the city starts to die,
the shadows lurk amongst us 'neath the looming Evil Eye
and as we gaze around us and begin to wonder why
we sometimes hear the rumble of the powers in the sky.

They're looking down upon us now, to conquer and control,
and mark our every movement, whether hiding in a hole
or preening like a purple parrot perched upon a pole.
Our welfare and our happiness? No, certainly not their goal.
 
If someone dares to whisper words of freedom's fragrant bloom
or murmur sighs of worriment at earth's impending doom,
the Evil Eye will squint a bit and pierce with poisoned plume,
thus cursing all those carefree dreams to wither in the womb.

The Princes rule with tungsten fists wherever they may roam
and sip from golden goblets, nectar, sweet as honeycomb
while peons (pinioned, mind and soul) stray  never far from home,
with faces 'neath the iron boot, thrust deep below the loam.

The Evil Eye pries everywhere, a servitor of Kings,
intruding on the puppet people dangling on their strings,
cementing secrets of their souls on spider webs with wings,
the gallows' hatch aflutter while the headless horseman swings.

Disguising pain of purgatory, far-flung distant shores
(on islands of containment) cache the dingy dungeon doors
and inquisition water-boards that wage their holy wars,
while sandmen drape our eyes with dust, with rainbow metaphors.

The screams of babes with empty eyes are never of concern
to those who covet silver coins, eyes cold and taciturn,
so peasants pass, parading by, to fill the golden urn
with pennies for the afterlife wherefore the faithful yearn.

While phantoms fade and reappear within the city sprawl
the gloom (adorned with ancient eyes which spike the livid pall)
pervades the ache and agony that poets sometimes scrawl
of plenitude to penury, how life endures the fall.

We know the party's over for there's little left to eat
and all the learned scholars, lean, now beg upon the street -
the Evil Eye's observing thoughts and other things discreet,
the signs are all around us - even sheep no longer bleat

While eyeless seers scan the skies and mourn the heretofore,
six legless men descend the stairs to find there is no floor,
eight earless men are drowned beneath the ocean's silent roar,
ten tongueless men begin to taste the never-evermore.

When hope becomes defiance, ask: Will bedlam soon arrive?
Will doves appear above us all? Or drones to guard the hive
while fed with milk and honey by the Queen and kept alive
to gut the gale below them? Will the Evil Eye survive?

Details | Pole Poem | |

MY AFRICA, UNITE TO REWRITE HER STORY

Africa; the land of great ancient myths
With culture diversified, but united mythos.
Traced to bear the ancestry of man
With the found evidence of modern humans.

Africa; like a rule of dynasty bestrides the equator
And encircles diverse unending climate sector
Stretching in awe-inspiring from the North Temperate Zone
Exuding the composite satellite imagery to the Southern pole.

Africa; a resource-rich and second-largest continent
With abundant natural resources that makes it pertinent
To the international community, especially the West
Such that they always want her to be their conquest.

Africa; they much talk about her in the global arena
But always present a mirror image of her aura.
They envy her diamonds, gold, coal, cocoa, and crude oil
That they glow while she mangles herself in turmoil.

Africa; whose stories are always told in a horrible manner
And images portrayed like all she holds is poverty and hunger.
But we know Africa is fascinating, invigorating, and amazing
With her azure clouds and vivid green lands that are unending.

Africa; embossed in awe moist grayness and magnificent mountains
With swirling long-lasting waterfalls stimulating her fountains
And inter alia scenic view of hills and crystal beaches
That marvels the tourists, and geologists see her as a peach.

Africa; muddled in kleptomania that has left her in wanton hardship
And her people glued to delusions that wash up their craftsmanship
Such that they often let her down by being unable to see
The aura of mystery in her versatile resources given by nature for free.

Africa; still muddling through despite the variegated challenges she faces
Needs her people to be well articulated and embrace with a game face
The clarion call that the time is long overdue to unite to rewrite her stories
For only Africans can tell better the untold stories about Africa’s histories.

Africa; I look at the east, west, north, central and south
I hear; and I see the youths strutting; and yelling for change in loud shouts
For they’re tired of bad governments, rebels, militants, genocide and warring
For their future is not of hatred, food crisis, diseases, but devoid of suffering.

Details | Pole Poem | |

When the Time is Right

For nearly 45 years I never spoke of  that day; the emotional pain was too great.
I simply hid it in the lining of my soul, knowing in my heart you didn’t stand
a chance with me as I stood in the rubble of my life and let you go, wrapped
in my heart with a wish and a prayer- all I had to give. And for 45 years, 
I dreamed of you and me playing in fields of daisies under blue skies as
I cried inside, wondering where you where, and if there was a part of you  
that somehow would remember me- would remember the bond we made 
in that single moment we shared together, when the nurse held you up to the
nursery window for me to see as I  stood on wobbly legs, with my trembling 
hands holding unto a pole with a dripping IV?

I prayed. Lord! How I prayed that someday, by the grace of  God, 
you’d come back to me when the time was right. 

So I lived my life. Got back up and crawled out of the rubble that was me, 
and lived with half a heart that somehow still managed to beat.

With the passing of  time, I bloomed; sometimes red, sometimes blue when I thought of all the years we could have shared as I sat and listened to family and friends 
tell me of the joyful times they shared with their children, grandchildren 
and great-grandchildren as, I  smiled and  cried inside and dreamed of you, 
and all the years of your life I  missed and, all the years I would never know. 
It was then I realized I was a very lonely soul. So, I wrote and wrote and
wrote, never suspecting for a moment that  nearly 45 years later,
you would find me through a poem I wrote for you.

I know I can never replace the mother and father who raised you, for the bonds
of time shared  are  much stronger than blood. Yet knowing what a wonderful 
women you turned out to be, beautiful, intelligent, compassionate  
and now with a daughter  of your own, is enough for me, and someday  
when the time is right for you, I hope and pray , we will meet again.

                                               ~~~~~~

                                                 Elaine George 


This is a true story.  It was through this forum ( poetrysoup ) my birth daughter found me. 



Details | Pole Poem | |

Mario and Luigi: The Untold Story

(Submitted to Heather's Famous Couples/Duos contest. I hope you all like!)  :)

“Save me, Mario & Luigi!”

As they both read the Princess’ distress call,
Written in dark cherry lipstick on his walls
“Mama-Mia, I just painted this damn thing”, Luigi whined.

They ride off into smiling clouds’ horizon
Knocking out hopeless Goombas & misunderstood Turtle shells
Rapidly exhaled hustles over flagpoles and grassy valleys
To see who will capture her 1st kiss...and NOTHING MORE

Towards that immense castle in the sky,
They climbed against its walls like two dogs in heat for the 1st time

Into un-screened window archways, they dive in
Their eyes stare threateningly against the Dinosaur-Lizard cross-breed reject

Mario & Luigi begin dropping mushrooms to see stars and taste invincibility.

But, like this battle, it only lasted 10 seconds!

For out from the Onyx darkness, a new hero emerged
Green, not with envy, but of Greek god magnificence
And a strut that would make a pole dancer jealous

He struck down with such brute force, tearing down the gates of Heaven & Hell
Jesus & Lucifer were pissed

It was Yoshi the dinosaur!

With one fell swoop & a high pitched Braveheart-style cry,
He starts dropping eggs like he’s been ovulating for days
Tossing them with such focus & epic awesomeness against his enemies
Knocking them down one by one

He gracefully sweeps up the Princess, staring down towards his enemies
In a condescendingly lifted face, places an old-school Boombox on the ground
With loud decibels of MJ’s “Don’t stop ‘til you get enough!”,
Yoshi pulls out & drops the mic, embracing gravity’s last word

The Princess devilishly smiles at her new green hero and rides him into the sunset.

Game over.

©Drake J. Eszes

Details | Pole Poem | |

Santa's Favorite - Rudolph The Red-Nosed Reindeer

Santa Claus has travel worries at the North Pole,
With terrible winter storms brewing there afoot,
He knows Christmas is so close and so he must put
His children first now whom he loves deeply and whole! 
And so he must find red-nosed Rudolph to cajole
Him into guid’n his sleigh on Christmas Eve to boot,
For this would bring his kids so much joy—what a hoot!   
Rudolph’s red nose bright guiding them from the North Pole! 

Rudolph leads Santa’s reindeer on Christmas Eve Night,
While all shout out with joy on this blessed holy night!
Santa’s reindeer love Rudolph in equal measure,
For with him they won’t be lost—oh what a pleasure!
Rudolph’s glowing red nose shines now ever so bright,
As we all with Santa celebrate the Lord’s night!

Gary Bateman, Copyright © All Rights Reserved, (December 12, 2014) 
(Petrarchan Sonnet poetic format in Iambic Hexameter)

Details | Pole Poem | |

Lady Luck

Lady Luck ~ (the Nonet) 



Tears, shadows that swallow other tears
united and out of control
eyes decompose like soft coal
water, in swimming hole
everglade pistol 
celestial toll
river pole 
dead soul
pain

~~~~~

All
over
again, pause
deep darken jaws
engraved, digging claws
deteriorating flaws 
still alive, eating what was
waste, rain, disabling because
nature lingers, emotional raw


by;~~~

Nonet, 9 lines, 
beginning 9 syllables, then 8-7-6-5-4-3-2-1 syllable(s) ~ I hope~

for RICK'S contest...

Details | Pole Poem | |

Santa's Special Delivery: a collab

Brutal was the biting wind,
sweeping brown locks of a tiny urchin 
side to side, often hiding her eyes.
 
Oversized slippers she had donned
were lost in deep snow drifts.
She plodded forth barefoot, risking frostbite.
 
Little daylight remained to guide her;
a dangerous holiday trek she undertook.
Villagers in passing carriages didn't notice her.
 
With snow falling fast and accumulations growing deep,
she didn't realize she'd left the main road.
If only she could find her grandfather's cottage!
 
For Christmas Eve it was,
but in her heart there was no joy.
Her cruel stepmother’s house she left in search of love.
 
As darkness fell, the biting cold increased.
Her weary legs she dragged; with teary eyes she searched
in vain, for only shadows could she see.
 
A green-clad elf with lantern lit was homeward bound
deep in the woods, when all at once he spied this forlorn girl,
sprawled on the snow deprived of strength and shivering.
 
He shone the light on her white face; eyelids moved and flickered.
He read her thoughts and understood; he knew just how to help her. 
No time was lost; his crystal flute he blew to call his trusted friends. 
 
An entire family of elves pulled the shivering child,
placing her gently on a sled,
fully decked out in Christmas flare.
 
The elves had been on their way to Santa;
Yuletide deliveries had to be made, 
but the wee girl's plight took priority.
 
Once she was aboard the sled,  
reindeer arrived on cue,
ushering the crew to the North Pole.
 
The little girl came to quickly,
nestled in Santa's arms.  
With pleasure he brought her to her grandfather's cottage.
 
Grandfather sat alone by his roaring fire
when a knock came to the door.
He went to see who it could be so late into the night.
 
There on the doorstep his young granddaughter stood with shining eyes,
a dream come true for those who never give up hope.
He picked her up in welcome arms, a warm embrace of love.
 
The clock struck twelve. They heard the sound of jingling bells
as Santa waved goodbye and off he sped across the sky.
Christmas had arrived, and his first gift had been delivered! 

 
[Inspired by the first paragraph of The Little Match Girl by H.C. Andersen]

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Co-written by: Paul Callus~Carolyn Devonshire~Valentina Stagno-Navarra
Contest: A Christmas Tale
Sponsor: Debbie Guzzi
Placed: 1st


Details | Pole Poem | |

Daddies Girl

the smell of Carmel corn 
fills the air – I think of you Dad
your hand in mine, four steps to your one
the carousel music scores happiness
bells of laughter ting-a-ling-ing

Cotton candy, pink as bazooka bubble gum,
melts to sugary paste on teeth and tongue
you are there Dad, hanky in hand
spit bathing my four year old cheeks
moon-faced, eyes crinkled

lifted skyward as the horses stop
I pick the girlie one but sit straddled
you pinch my knees and pull down my skirt
muscle man strong --  your hands strap me in
they rest after on the small of my back as I rise
then I come [the brass pole all gummy
from my hands]

last week we walked the country fair
my hand now as big as yours
aged like two apple dolls, we meander
you buy me cotton candy
spit on your thumb and wipe
it from my cheek

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A Totum Pole Ode

.

                                      forever           gazing
                                           cold,    blazing
                                              eyes in the
                                              sky, where
                                             wings of the
                           grain, have weathered many rains…. 
                                            ~~~~~~~~~~~
 deep, fluid etchings, carved in the wood, stetching high over the hood of earth…
   a thunderbird’s wings, perch a lofty plateau, above a graveyard of tales long ago…
     over years, the curious swell, enchanted by spell of legends dwelling here
         
                                   emerging from gold lands 
                                          so far and near
                                          skin and bones 
                                    through windswept loam
                                     thick with thistles, 
                                    with courage and fear
                                   ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
                                   a river on their back
                                    and a cloak of home
                                  draped across shoulders 
                                       in a world unknown
                                  ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
                      tears ran rivulets on the white man's ground
                   drenched with forgiveness, from a crying sun
                    and the eyes of time, from a tribe now gone
                                          ~~~~~~~~~~~
                                 as wind spins, curls, and winds
                                           around the spine
                                            ~~~~~~~~~
                                   of native vines... unfolding
                                          old tribal codes
                                             ~~~~~~~~ 
                                             ~~~~~~~~
                                             ~~~~~~~~        
                                         stories are told with
                                        each turn of the pole...

                                        in the totum pole ode
                                              ~~~~~~~
                                              ~~~~~~~
                                              ~~~~~~~








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Blessed Be

Lady, weave Your circle tight
With a web of living light 
Earth and Air and Fire and Water
Bind us to you.


MacDermot, the Prince of Coolavin came
to Connachta a fair maiden to win,
as the maypole rose a redhead proclaimed, 
that to marry him, her heart was aflame; 
so life comes again with a slow spin.
The pole is lifted and she beribbons him;
merry as their red and white ribbons crossed
wedded like wefts in the weave of the Lord's skein.
MacDermot the Prince was right chivalrous.

How the town folk of Sligo laughed and danced 
each youthful suitor had bells on their shoes.
Eight at a time the couples round pranced 
every Da's hoped his daughter to loose.
But, Meg the red had a mind to seduce,
and the Prince, well the Prince, was Goddess crossed.
Meg's lips were wine and he had but those two;
MacDermot the Prince was right chivalrous.

White for the virgin each Goddess blessed
red for the God of the green woods so old
green ribbons the forest, gold's sun's tressed 
all twirl round the royal wreath topped Maypole.
Blessed is the tree, with honors foretold 
as maids and masters their ribbons criss-crossed 
while the Prince MacDermot held Meg; they strolled.
MacDermot the Prince was right chivalrous.

The Rune Inguz was read, they blessed all holds
and the grand green hills were bereft of frost
for spring was here and their vows were told.
MacDermot the Prince was right chivalrous.







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Life is Like a May Pole

We weave our colors throughout a world brightly hued which turns with us too round its never ending sun. It’s OUR time to dance lively! Written 12/1/15 For the "Life is like a Maypole" Poetry contest of Seren Roberts

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Stunning Revelations from Ancient Maps

Professor Hapgood’s studies on ancient maps were fixed
Einstein said his theories should be added to history’s mix
Perhaps it proved too big a leap for other minds to take
But his ancient culture findings, Hapgood would not forsake

6000 BC, before Egypt’s pyramids were built
Millennia before Pompeii’s lava had been spilled
Or small fishing boats hugged the Mediterranean Coast
And Columbus’s “daring” voyage was not even close

Ancient seafarers drew with astounding accuracy
Maps of the world they once knew, the fishermen’s legacy
Antarctica sans ice and closer to the equator
The Mid-Atlantic Ridge once an above-sea sky scraper

Siberia touching Alaska with no Bering Strait
(Palin could have seen Russia without snow from her back gate)
 Cuba, England, Sweden, too, on these maps appear clearly
But Sweden’s fully glacial; England’s blanket an ice sheet

If we believe Hapgood, a civilization once thrived
Thousands of years before language; maps keep memories alive
Technology to chart the seas was lost in ancient times
With latitude and longitude measurements quite refined

Sea kings’ cities may have succumbed during the last Ice Age
Surviving nations lost their skill when history turned a page
Geography to be found again when the Earth had healed
“Discoverers” reinvented the forgotten ship’s wheel

Magellan, perhaps not the first to sail around the globe
Admiral Byrd not the first man to visit the South Pole
Spirits from a colony of seafarers can be found
From deep beneath Antarctic ice, they try to spread the word

But laugh they must as scientists forecast global warming
And man attempts to alter life and heed their dire warning
Shifting poles?  Natural cycles!  Men would be well advised
To study the maps Hapgood found and open their closed minds 



To learn more about Professor Charles Hapgood’s map studies and the comments made by 
Albert Einstein, you can visit http://www.crystalinks.com/crustal.html.

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LIFE IS LIKE A MAYPOLE

LIFE IS LIKE A MAYPOLE Outstretch above are blue skies and golden sunshine as train of threads is softly thug and braid to a pole. Behold, this sky high pole of bright crayon colors, they speak slowly about life in quite a number. . . Sturdy wooden pole standing high and tall is like a man endowed with wit and strength The lengthy colored ribbons children install are the shifting, rolling faces of life's events Black as night sometimes dawn in life, one maybe blue but not long, instead do stand and chase rainbows on green belt bend. Being a tickled pink to explore, never strife! See, how the color red blush as it dance in the wind so must we as we share love along kinship line we aren't all born with a green finger yet, each kindness touch, grin lingers! Shed that yellow-bellied skin to mingle without any charign. Our life is given by God in silver plate. Hence, let our daily goal be a red-letter day! If we do, earth and sky may wed of rapport like the ribbons together pulled and blend by hands of dancing children that mend... Raising the Maypole aloft with ribbon pour so is a lived life despite black and blues decor. As the threads slide smoothly in span of minutes we, humans, must climb to reach our full limits. The intertwining colors that fused, all roar salad differences of man can be sorted, united to be one. Screaming colors tickle lowly spirits' to fire daring man to live before his body will retire. . . Living life to the fullest before each setting sun! _____________________________________________________________ ©O.E. Guillermo 11:23 pm-- February 02, 2015 Sponsor: Seren Roberts Contest Name: Life is like a Maypole Placed 1st

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WHERE DO THEY GO WHEN THEY LEAVE


Where do they go 
	when they leave?

Well    I do believe
she is rolling down a grassy hillside
giggling all the way to the bottom

He is walking barefoot 
down a dusty country lane
A fishing pole over one shoulder
His dog by his side

She picks herself up 
brushes off the grass
and runs to play with her dolls
Mama cut from a flour sack

He forgot about fishing    he is
catching crawdads in the water hole
until Mama calls for him to come on home

She is learning to play the piano
with a persistence to be admired
attacks the scales     an earnest look on her face
framed by banana curls perfectly patted into place

It is harvest time and a farmer’s work is never done
there are plenty of lessons in plowing    planting 
and reaping    for one man so young

They are the swing kids    jitterbugging to the stars
dancing all night to Glenn and Duke’s
boogie-woogie big band sound

She is kissing him goodbye
as he boards the bus carrying soldiers to war
wondering if his final resting place will be
on that far-off European shore

They are remembering why
they are the greatest generation
to ever grace this earth

Their innocence never since revisited
Their enthusiasm for life 
for love    for change
The sacrifices they made

When she looks at her daughter
It’s not a woman with grandchildren she sees
but her little girl in curls 
all dressed up for Sunday school

His son is not a man    balding with a paunch
but his tow-headed boy in overalls
when Papa took him fishing 
in his favorite water hole

Where do they go 
	when they leave? 

They are playing in the backyard 
with imagination
the only toy they could afford

They are strolling twilight streets
in the time before darkness 
became unsafe

They are sitting on the front porch 
with their neighbors
watching their children grow

They are not forgetting a world 
which has passed them by

They are remembering a time
when they held the world in their hands 


(See About Poem)



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Voyage Plan (for JEW)

Let true love find me to be the ever fixed mark of constant gaze
The spectacle of her thrilling eyes, and she to me the dearest prize
A coral when the heart stampedes, or fickle fancy frivolous strays
For love must be a leash of common trust, the pole beyond the skies

So shall we not shiver when seasons change the wind and mist comes
A dark impenetrable fog before the yes, a marsh around the mind
For we by love is added as one, most accurate of all majestic sums
Trust must be the key to vision when love alone stumbles here blind

No arc of sight away in flight, bending ever to a proud inconstant sun
But holding hands we chart our course, finishing better than we begun
For all nature shall around us spin fresh vortexes of an ancient desire
But trust shall preserve us body, soul and skin only for our own fire.

What else shall by our light be drawn, like quivering moths must retire
Into the dust and cinders gasping at our feet, hope their fractured glass
Let true love be constant in this faith, for God's peace cannot expire
Through every storm his ways do hold, so upon him all anchors cast

So what then this buzzing, this jealous sound, is it of frail frying wings
Does some flame the fragile heart deceives, or nestless memory stings
Ah, sentinel not the virgin beauty of my sheets, my fortressed pride
This castle is built of stronger walls, the drawbridge is up, I'm alone inside

They ragged armies may their runted horses rattle until they neigh
Pure hubris, the harried hustlings, trust is a wall faithful and secure
To smooth for any tool to clasp, all tempted grasp will only slide away
And these walls have moats without and within, none crossed before

You alone have I shown where to swim, and how to unlock this gate
To you my center constant holds, only one holy grail keeps my faith
See not my stern behind my bow, point to the haven of your arms
See not my flags fly for you alone, your port the weather ever charms

It's firm the mast that keeps my sail, look from your castle, I come
O sweet the winds that drive me to your shore, what constant tide!
You the true Polaris of my compass stone, my fiddles and my drum
Love not all alone that carries me, but trust that steers me to your side.

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Black-Water Blues

Diz Cajonne dey call Thibodaux
Paddle dis girl in his Pirogue
Den he see dem unmention
Dad tool stan at attention
She slap him stick HARD doncha' know

Dad pole shrink awful fas he yell whoa!
Sha, whad did you swat dad ting fo?
Now it at parade rest
Like diz bird in a nest
She-say-"I-scared-a'-dem-SNAKE-buddy-ohh!"

PD's contest